


Mr Loverman-Kuroken

by Myka_Saen



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:53:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29040435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myka_Saen/pseuds/Myka_Saen
Summary: and i miss my lover, man.
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Kudos: 4





	Mr Loverman-Kuroken

**Author's Note:**

> trishot angst vomited in a night of pure anxiety, a mix of depressing thoughts without head or tail. but also has some flaws ;)

January 2- M r L o v e r m a n

I put the bottle on the table, it burns my throat.

But now I have to lean on the wall, my legs are shaking: maybe the alcohol is taking effect. I cough: it didn’t taste good, but at least I feel a little less worse and a little more tired.

My hands now graze the wall to try to get back in balance, standing up, and despite the heating on this looks cold. Maybe I’m the one with the hot skin.

I blink, I start not to see well: if it is alcohol or tears I can not say.

Since when is the front door so crooked? It seems that he is dancing without music: a little to the right and a little to the left, like water slides, it seems. I turn my head a bit: maybe I am the one who is crooked, and does not bring it? Or maybe neither.

But my legs tremble, I feel them break, and before I can get back in balance I fall to the ground with a thud. I don’t feel bad, I’m still numb enough not to realize the bruises I must have bruised my knees. But the noise stirred up thoughts that alcohol had sent away with fatigue and sweat for a few minutes.

And, oh, how I miss you, man. It’s me, Mr. Loverman, and I miss my lover, man.

I close my eyes, I don’t want to cry.

The way you spoke to me now makes me wish I’d left with you.

The way you used to say my name made me run and run and run, although I don’t like running.

And a tear comes down, despite my tight eyes and my effort to hold her back.

I open my eyes, and I can see images moving around the wall from the broken position I’m in.

It’s television, I’m lucid enough to understand it, but tears and alcohol make it hard for me to understand what it’s transmitting.

This moment of distraction from the thoughts that concern you is interrupted almost immediately: a pain in the stomach makes me bend in two.

I can’t hold my liquor, you’ve always told me that.

Another cramp convinces me to get up, and I can sit down despite the tremor of legs and arms: I have to go to the bathroom, right away.

But I’m falling apart, I can’t get up.

And, oh, how I miss you, man. It’s me, Mr. Loverman, and I miss my lover, man.

I open my mouth, I get free where I am: I don’t have the courage, the desire and the strength to get up, or to move.

I’m broken, disgusted by myself and what I’ve done. I’ve done to you.

Now I know, I’m coming back clear, I feel it: after all it was little more than a miserable glass, but I can’t hold my liquor, you always told me.

I’m recovering my brain, the events of the last days come back with violence: I carry my hands to my head, I want to tear my hair

And I still cry: who knows how long it will be before I can return to you.

I move toward the wall, away from the pool of vomit that, yes, disgusts me, but that I don’t have the strength to clean now.

I’m too tired: physically, emotionally and mentally.

I lay my neck on the wall, and I cry and cry, and I cry again: and you said I was numb, only because I didn’t cry when I looked at the Enchanted City with you.

But I’ve always been a crying guy, and I wish you were here to find out, to make fun of me, to dry my tears: oh, what should I do without you?

I don’t know how long before I can get up and clean my outlet.

I don’t even know what time it is when I lie on the bed, or what time it is when I fall asleep.

But, oh, how I miss you, man. It’s me, Mr. Loverman, and I miss my lover, man.

\- - - 

I stretched, without removing my hands from the switch, yawning. You, by reflection, raised the arm that until recently surrounded my shoulders:

-Did I bother you? -

You asked, you were worried.

I lifted my shoulders and leaned against the back of the bench, while you still held your arm in mid-air, waiting for me to answer you. So I laughed internally, because you knew the anxiety I felt when we were together in public.

-No, not at all. I don’t mind if you touch me. -

Then, snorting, I brought a hand behind your head to grab your arm and bring it back to surround my shoulders.

You smiled, or rather you grinned, I remember very well, before putting the other hand in your pocket.

We’d been together a month, but it was the first time we’d gone out as a couple.

And yet, the only tense of the two was you, the greatest, the most sociable.

But the tension passed you quickly, and I almost laughed when you waved my palm in front of my face, as if to say "hey, hey, grab!".

-When we’re alone, you can hold my hand. -

You looked up to the sky and commented, jokingly:

-This obsession with loneliness... sometimes I think you’d rather be completely alone, even without me! -

January 3- L i n e w i t h o u t h a H o o k

I open my eyes, I see the memory fade before my eyes replaced by an unbridgeable void. I want to move, but I can’t.

And I’m sitting still, in bed, staring at the ceiling. With who knows what strength I can turn on the other side, and touch the sheet with my hand: you said that I seemed to be better off alone than with others, but you were wrong.

I never learned and I never will learn to be alone.

I wish it was just a nightmare, but it’s a real curse, which gets worse every day.

And what used to be a lake of tears is becoming an ocean that I can no longer hold back, and I feel that the levees are failing.

I wish there was a way I could not hear all this noise, this noise of silence that left your absence.

And it’s only been one day, Jesus, one day.

Oh, baby, I am a wreck when i'm without you, I need you here to stay.

You know, I felt like I died the day I met you crying down at the lake.

I don’t remember, I told you something that made you feel like a burden, right?

Oh, if I could, I’d take back everything.

I swear I would do anything to save our relationship, which is now just mine.

No, no, no, no, no, always "no".

Every "no" I uttered I would take back if I could, the awareness of having pronounced them now is like a cold wind on my back. An immense pain every memory of mine that concerns you.

What if that night, when you thought I was asleep...

What if that night I heard you say, "Is it worth it? Because there’s something and then there’s nothing, and then again there is and again there seems to be absolutely nothing between us."

If I’d told you that night that you were the fucking perfect man, and I’m just a boy.

You’re the perfect man, and without you, I’m just a line without a hook.

\- - -

1 January- L a s t N i g h t

I go through the metal gate and hear it squeal when I close it: I put a foot on the ground, stepping on a puddle, and I also get dirty the mud pants.

I walk in silence, I walk calmly, until I find myself in front of you.

-Hello Kuroo-, I say, while I sit cross-legged in the wet patch of grass, right in front of you. I smile.

-Now I’m 19, and I still have my whole life ahead of me, just like you. Now we’re the same age. I thought you’d like to remember that, and since you can’t answer me, I’ll pretend that’s actually true. -

I see you giggling, my smile widens.

-You know, when we first met, I just wanted you to notice me. I had seen you many times before, I even came to the gym to watch you play, before that day at the lake.

I never liked volleyball, and you knew it, but I didn’t mind a compromise, you know?

I come to the gym and you show up: this was the tacit agreement that we had, or that I, 14 years old naive, I thought we had.

And often, when you came out of the locker room, I deluded myself that you would recognize me, and say "I don’t know what I would do without you".

We didn’t talk for months, and yet I knew you recognized me every time, even if you were silent.

I believed in it until the end, and I did well, because then you became mine. For three whole years you were mine.

Even that last night you were mine, even though you didn’t know it. Even though you were angry, even though we both were.

Because you wrote me, "I’m sorry I left, and I’m on my way home."

"I’m on my way home."

That house that was ours just over a week ago, but it was home.

And I was fine that night, you know?   
Because it was all over, like the fight never happened.

Like you never went out slamming the door, like I didn’t yell at those horrible things.

As if we had never lost sight of each other, not even a moment.

I was so well that, even without you, I had gone out. I had dressed comfortable, and I had gone to buy that new game.

I was happy, I was fine, but that little joy was just a farce. As if it were just a bit of grass, it didn’t last more than a few hours.

And I was so stupid when I ignored that call from you, I know.

"He’s coming home anyway," I thought.

He’s driving home, he’ll be fine. -

I stop, I cover my eyes like a hand: a year has passed. A year has already passed, or maybe it’s only been a year?

I don’t know, but I still miss you like day one.

And I still hate myself like that night.

-Unbelievable-, I pick up, pushing back down my throat the sobs and the broken voice -the way you’ve always labeled me as something beautiful, when there’s nothing beautiful in me.

I always knew that somehow, but the certainty came that night.

When I didn’t see you come home, when I realized my phone had stopped ringing for hours.

And I, stupid, thought you’d come home, you’d be there waiting for me. -

I dry my eyes, but there’s no tears to dry.

Not that I finished them, but you always hated people crying.

Even if you said it was different for me, and that I could cry whenever I wanted.

Ironic that I only did that the night you left.

-Maybe you saw something different about me, maybe you saw something I can’t find. -

I stop, I hear you asking a question but I almost ignore it: I never thought it was your fault.

I never thought that if you didn’t get out, you’d never have that accident.

Because if I had answered your phone, at least I could have said goodbye.

-Maybe you saw something, or maybe you didn’t see anything but you deluded yourself that you did. -

My voice trembles, I keep my eyes low, but I don’t care: I won’t cry before you, I don’t deserve your mercy.

-Who knows what you thought when I didn’t tell you... What did you think when I didn’t come to the hospital?

And how are you gonna feel about me walking away slowly, without... without me being able to catch up with you in time?

And I was so stupid to take you for granted, my love. -

I raise my head, I touch your tombstone with my fingers. It’s cold, and my heart is pounding.

But you held them anyway. But you loved me anyway.

-I think this stupidity of mine is the only reason I’m still here, you know? The only reason I haven’t caught up with you yet.

I can’t bear that I hurt you so much, that I took you for granted so many times when you were actually the only thing that mattered to me.

I know a whole life without you won’t cause me enough pain to make it up to myself.

But I hope you can at least forgive me, my love. -

I’m finally silent, with my hand I keep caressing your tombstone.

It makes me feel closer to you.

I hear the roar of an engine, maybe someone’s about to come in here and then we won’t be alone anymore.

Patience: I always preferred to be alone with you, but this time it doesn’t matter.

-Happy New Year, my love. -


End file.
